


Romanza

by lotesse



Category: A Room With a View - E. M. Forster
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotesse/pseuds/lotesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misses Lavish and Bartlett play at costumes and seductions amidst the flowers of Italy. Written for Yuletide Madness 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romanza

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Last Good Name](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Last+Good+Name).



They were back at the pensione, having just come from a morning's wild - and unguided - exploration of streets where women sold bright cloth and men sold red wine, and children ran about barefoot like packs of wild beasts. Miss Lavish's room had a balcony, overlooking a picturesque little garden, all crimson flowers and flashes of bright gold stamens at their hearts.

Miss Bartlett sat down by the dressing table. Miss Lavish walked to the railing, looked down at the garden, and began to unpin her hair.

"I do think," she said, "that those Italian peasant women look simply striking with their hair down. In fact, I sometimes rather wish such a style could become fashionable for an Englishwoman; I would so love to follow it myself."

"You do have lovely hair," Charlotte said from the dressing table. And it was perfectly true - Eleanor Lavish's hair was splendid, falling down over her shoulders in light brown waves and curls, catching the light around her triangular face.

Charlotte stood, and going to the railing as well ran a hand through her friend's tresses, shaking out the last few stray pins.

"Your hair would be pretty enough, Charlotte," Eleanor said, "if you would only stop arranging it so severely. Here, let me show you. Loosen the gather here at your face - let it be fuller, and more disarranged. Let it be spirited."

"But it's not nearly as good in color as your own, you know," Charlotte replied. "In fact, I have always quite hated the color of my hair. So pale as to be straw-like, and not a bit of curl. You might very nearly go about as an Italian woman, my dear, but I never could."

Miss Lavish was inspired by the idea. "Do you think so? I have never dared go out in native dress, you know, though I do feel that the Italian spirit resides in me." She looked at Charlotte, a fiery, fierce look, and went on, "I do not know why I've never tried it - see how constrained I am, though I dare to call myself free? You shall help me, Charlotte, shan't you? I want to see how I'd look."

Charlotte might have been rather alarmed by her more vigorous friend, but Eleanor was already planning the thing. "If I take that petticoat - you know the one, the blue is bright enough - and my hair -" she reached down to pluck a red blossom that flourished within her grasp, and going to the mirror pinned it up behind her ear. "My corsets well have to go, and my boots," she said.

Charlotte helped her out of her overdress, and began unknotting the tiny fine cords of Eleanor's underthings. She could not help but notice that Eleanor's shoulders were very fine, her neck ascending gracefully from the sun-touched curve at the nape.

The corset, laces all at last undone, fell away to reveal the softest and lightest of cotton chemises. This did nothing at all to conceal the silhouette of Eleanor's shapely bosom, draping rather closely against her skin.

"There you are, Eleanor," Charlotte said rather breathlessly. "There's the corset off."

Miss Lavish rose to pillage her wardrobe, emerging at last triumphant with the blue petticoat, which she skimmed over her hips. Moments later, all the rest of her underskirts fell to her ankles in a shimmering pile of silk and linen. "Now," she said, shaking her hair about, "do I look like an Italiana?"

"You look beautiful," Charlotte said truthfully, and sat down on Miss Lavish's bed.

Sitting down beside her, Eleanor ran a caressing hand along Charlotte's throat. "Do you know, dear, that I feel you are a most boon companion? You are the dash of sugar and lemon to my savory spice. Indeed, I think you and I are merely destined - we go so well together. I should never have dared to do anything so wild in the company of another."

"Do you really think so?" Charlotte asked. Her voice trembled; she was filled with trepidation.

"Yes," Eleanor said, bearing Charlotte down to lie loose-limbed and sprawled beside her on the bed. "With no one but you." She was undoing Charlotte's collar, and then she bent to press a kiss just behind Charlotte's earlobe.

Charlotte started. "Oh, my dear Miss Lavish, I should -"

"Stuff and nonsense," Eleanor said. "I am not Miss Lavish right now, but rather a wild, unprincipled woman of the fields and the market. The rules simply do not apply. Hush, Charlotte, and let me please you."

Charlotte hushed, and then her corsets were off too, and her skirts were thrown around her, and her stockings pushed down. She hushed until she felt Eleanor's deft, clever fingers moving in her most untouched places, the soft openings in her body that she so rarely thought about. Then, when Eleanor's caresses sent rushes of blood and sensation coursing through her, she gasped aloud, crying and twisting amidst the heavy scents of floral life and sunlight.

They went down, later in the afternoon, to tea, and Charlotte was amazed that Miss Honeychurch had strayed so far that day, and without a chaperone.


End file.
